In the dimly lit confession booth, the scent of incense and candle wax filled the air. The brunette woman with long, messy hair knelt on the cushioned bench, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always been a devout follower of the church, but today she was here to confess her sins of a different kind.
The priest, an older man with a thick mustache and a stern expression, slid open the partition between them. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Go on, my child,” the priest urged her.
